One Hundred Colors
by MissMimsy
Summary: A 100 Themes work using all my favorite APH Characters.  There will probably be lots of Canada, America, random FACE family moments, and pretty much every pairing I can stand to ship. Also Prussia. Because he's, ya know, AWESOME.
1. One: Underwater

Theme One: Underwater

Alfred & Mathieu

I felt the rush as I sprinted towards that open, sparkling plain, empty save for Alfred. I felt the sickening, energizing dip as my feet left the solid, comforting dock with a tremendous creak, and I leapt out over the rippling sky-mirror. And then I felt _it. _ As the water closed over my head, an inexorable curtain drawing me deeper into the grasp of the lake, _it_ was there with me. For a moment, a glorious, beautiful, wonderful, amazing moment, I was suspended in that diamond clear fluid, being reborn from the womb of the world, cradled with such comforting pressure by the lake's arms. My eyes, open all the way, blinked once, twice, as I was held there, halfway between the depths that beckoned beneath me and the light that shined from above. I could vaguely hear Alfred's panicked shouting, muffled by the glory of those glassy hands that held me tight. And then, in an unexpected move (though really, I should have expected it; Alfred, despite knowing that nations cannot die, always overreacted to any sign of danger for me), he was there with me, his arms like wings, bringing him closer and closer until we floated inches apart. His eyes, bluer than they had any right to be, held sparks of anger, concern. Love. Laughter. They steadily grew wider, lighter, as he assessed my wellbeing. I smiled weakly at him. _Forgive me?_ I mouthed. His dopey grin and two thumbs up replied.

Alfred grabbed my hands, pulling me playfully forward. And, by all rights, we should have surfaced. Our lungs should have burned, protesting the heavy abuse. But they didn't. And, as I followed Alfred deeper, swirling and spinning like young otters set free, I was so very, very glad. Our hair fanned out, spun golden clouds balanced in a nimbus about our faces. The light caught it in fawn-spots, illuminating one strand and throwing the other into deep, brassy contrast. Nantucket still stood stubborn, resisting the pull of the lake's currents. My own stubborn curl simply trailed behind me, wild and uncaring. When his azure eyes caught my own violet ones once again, I could not help but smile widely at him, shy but sure in this underwater world where nothing truly affected me. There was no Ivan to sit on me, no Gilbert to hassle me, no Papá Francis to make maudlin innuendos, nor Arthur to force burnt scones upon me. And, though I loved my family very much, sometimes…

Sometimes I just wanted to pretend I was a merman, frolicking in the depths of a lake deep in my own wilderness, without anyone to bother me except Alfred and Kumajirou. It was a blissful escape from the constant bickering of Gilbert and Elizabeta. A beloved detour from the barely resolved sexual tensions between Francis and Arthur, from the loud cussing of Lovino, to the alarming groping habits of Yong Soo.

And I simply loved this blessed silence, with water blocking out everything I didn't want to hear. I simply loved Alfred. And when he tangled his fingers with mine, tugging me towards the light that sparkled, elusive, beyond the cap of the calm waters, mouthing _I love you,_ all the way, I loved him even more.

The surface of the lake was disruptive, a sudden burst of clear air into my senses, a world where I could see clearly, and hear everything. Alfred broke the surface only centimeters away, his remarkably quiet laugh almost right in my ear.

"Well, Mattie?" he asked, breath a warm breeze across my cheeks as we tread water together. "It's pretty beautiful, isn't it?" I only nodded, flipping onto my back to stare up at that summer sky that looked so much like Alfred's eyes.

"It's exactly what I wanted when I said that the Summer World Conference was driving me insane." His warm hand, soft and large, settled on my gently moving stomach as he swam closer. I opened my eyes to see him right above me, smiling in that uncharacteristically soft way of his. Though nobody expected it of the big, brash America, the self proclaimed hero, he had this sweet side to him that caught everyone off guard. They did not seem to forsee those times when he gently bandaged Sealand's scraped knee, Berwald standing beside him with a bemused expression, ready to intervene if Alfred did something wrong, and Tino crying more than even Peter was. When he picked Feliciano up with the greatest of care after he and I had fallen asleep watching Ouran Host Club, and placed him in the guest bedroom when Ludwig and Feli were at our house for one of their frequent visits. Or if he presented Seychelles with a beautiful red flower at Austria's annual summer ball, spinning her around the dance floor while she giggled, just to make her feel special, just so someone other than France would twirl her about. Those were the things I loved about Alfred.

But I loved those underwater moments the best. Just him and me, all alone, suspended in that cool embrace deep below the surface of the world. He leaned down to kiss me lightly, arms bracing me up from beneath.

Yes, I loved those underwater moments the most.

I decided to start writing for a One Hundred Themes Challenge. So here's theme one, Underwater! I love the idea of Alfred being a nice guy underneath his idiocy. ;_; I'm also completely obsessed with Mathieu.


	2. Two: Air Mail

Theme Two: Air Mail

Mathieu & Gilbert

Mathieu did not really have many friends. There were the people that usually noticed him, and now, in this modern age, that was pretty much all the nations. He had, luckily, at least gained enough notoriety from the Olympics that he wasn't forgotten anymore. But he was still overlooked, and he was still rather quiet, and he still didn't have very many close friends. He supposed he could count Alfred, his pseudo brother, and his quasi-parents Arthur and Francis. Ivan kept telling Mathieu to call him Vanya, and refused to refer to him as anything other than Matvey, so Mathieu supposed he was a friend too. Katyusha was pleasant enough to hang out with, if a little bit annoying (although sweet) with her constant worrying. But none of them were really all that close with Mathieu (no matter how much Ivan tried, given that Mathieu and Katyusha were really the only ones who could hold a conversation with him, and Natalya was just plain creepy).

And so, because Mathieu did not really have very many friends, he did not receive very much mail. Which was rather a shame, because Mathieu loved getting mail. But that all changed one day, rather abruptly, in the middle of a week long World Conference held by Ivan.

Most of the time Mathieu actually liked World Conferences. He knew that he was a rarity among nations, as Mathieu actually enjoyed listening to Ludwig's speeches and Alfred's harebrained schemes. But this? This was just unbearable. He couldn't put his finger on it, whether it was the fact that the snow just _would not stop_, or the fact that he was rooming with Im Yong Soo and he wouldn't stop randomly popping up, groping Mathieu, and declaring that he "originated from Korea". Whatever it was that made it so damn boring, though, didn't matter. Because Mathieu was going to be unbearably bored whether he knew the reason or not.

It was on the second day of the five official conference days, a Tuesday, and Mathieu was just settling down in his assigned seat after lunch when it hit him. _It_ was a small, rather rotund, cheeping mass of feathers and confusion. To be precise, a small, rather rotund, cheeping mass of feathers and confusion named Gilbird by its quite egotistical owner Gilbert Beilschmidt. As he held the bemused bird in his hands, carefully handling it so as not to disturb the frantic avian further, he wondered where Gilbert could be, if he was not with Gilbird. But, before Mathieu could wonder any further, a loud, grating, crass voice alerted him to Gilbert's impending presence.

"Oi, _Küken_!_ Mein kleiner spatz_, vhere are you?" He called, heavy footsteps clomping down the hallway towards the conference room Mathieu sat in, frozen, with Gilbird in his hands. "Aha! You've been kitnappt by a leetle _prinzessin _und his_ bärchen_!"

As Mathieu looked on, deer in the headlights look firmly on his face, Gilbert flopped down in the chair next to him, practically on top of Mathieu's legs.

"Vell hello, dere." He leered. "Und vhat might you be doing vith my leetle _Küken_?"

"I-I…I was just sitting here, when he ran into my head, eh," Mathieu stuttered out, under the force of the crimson gaze.

"Oh really, now," Gilbert replied, his face looming closer and closer to Mathieu until their noses connected lightly. Mathieu squeaked.

"Ach, I'm just messing vith you," Gilbert said, laughing and leaning back, resting his head on one hand as he sat sideways in one of the big cushy desk chairs. With a silent sigh, all the tension Mathieu had felt seeped out of his body and he was able to fully appreciate the fluffy little bird in his hand. It was so soft, so sweet looking… until it pecked at his finger, hopped off his hand, and strutted over to Prussia. Mathieu yelped, caught off guard by the haughty little chick. Gilbert chuckled, picking up the bird and resting him in the white strands of his hair. "Sorry about dat, he ist not very nice unless he knows you." Mathieu nodded his head.

"It's fine, I understand. Kumajirou doesn't like strangers very much either."

"Ah, dat ist your_ bärchen_, yes?" Gilbert looked under the table briefly, surveying the sleeping Kumajirou draped about Mathieu's leg.

"Yes, he's very lovely if you get to know him, but otherwise he'd rather growl at you than let you near him."

"Ah haahaa, he vould lof me. After all, who can resist de awesome me?" Gilbert kesesed to himself, still looking at Mathieu. "Und how are you dis fine avternoon, _hübsche_?"

"Do you even know my real name?" Mathieu asked, wondering if Gilbert had ever paid enough attention to bother to learn it. Other people were starting to filter back into the conference room, and several had given the unlikely pair at the end of the table strange looks.

"Of course I know your name, vhy vouldn't I know? You are so cude, I could not ignore you." Prussia laughed at the growing blush on Mathieu's face. "You are Mathieu Villiams, dat lofley nation Canada. You even haff a colony namedt New Prussia in your borders, didn't you know?"

"I knew, it's just that…" Mathieu looked down at his pad of paper he'd been using for taking notes earlier.

"Efery vone forgets dat you haff so much svay in de vorld, don't dey? Dey forget you haff de second biggest landmass of any country, und dat you haff dangerous allies. " Gilbert leaned in even closer, inches away from Mathieu's ear, his words barely ghosting over the sound of Ludwig beginning the second half of the day's discussions. "But I haff not forgotten, not since I saw you dat day vhen _Westen_ und I vere reunited. You vere dere. Und I thought, vhat a preety leetle _prinzessen_ ofer dere, vith his violet eyes und his golden hair." Gilbert leaned back into his seat, turning his gaze towards the front of the room where Ludwig was giving the podium over to Arthur and Tino for their joint presentation. And Mathieu spent the rest of the afternoon discussions blushing, hands in his lap, eyes on the table, with confusion in his thoughts, and a fluttering in his heart.

Though he and Gilbert did not speak much for the rest of the conference, aside from hellos and goodbyes, the first piece of mail arrived from Berlin two weeks later, with a letter from "the awesome me" and a package of dried fish for Kumajirou. And just like that, Mathieu had made a friend.

Theme two was Air Mail, and I thought of how much I love fics about the friendship between Mathieu and Gilbert. Also, really, who can resist Gilbert. He is, after all, the most awesomest of countries. :D I hope that Gilbert's accent isn't too hard to understand. Also, I think that I'll do more one shots off of this theme, I really like the idea of Mathieu and Gilbert starting off as pen pals and evolving into something more. Also, Prunada is a great ship that I will gladly hop aboard. 3

German Translations (sorry if they're wrong, I'm so far from fluent it's not even funny)

Küken- chick

Mein kleiner spatz- my little sparrow

Prinzessin- princess

Bärchen- little bear

Hübsche- pretty one

Westen- west (Ludwig)


	3. Three: Geometry

Theme Three: Geometry

Lovino & Antonio (AU)

Lovino had always resented Antonio for being so good at everything he did. Grandpa Rome doted on him, Feliciano adored him, and everyone just seemed to like him more that Lovino on every single point of character. But, despite Antonio's flawless character: a rake when he needed to be, a sweet and loving boy next door all the rest of the time; he was horrible at math. And so, when he failed Geometry for the second time, setting him up to be in the same community college geometry class Lovino, a newly christened freshman, would be in, he begged for help. And when Lovino said he begged, Lovino meant he _begged_. For two straight months, from the moment that Lovino graduated high school until the moment that Lovino registered for fall semester classes at the end of July.

~August~

"Lovi~" Antonio shouted out, bounding into the teen's attic bedroom, flinging open the curtains, letting streams of early August sun in, and slamming the door shut behind him. Lovino groaned from underneath his sheets, burrowing deeper and deeper down.

"Th' 'ell do ya want, Tonio?" Lovino muttered, quite disgruntled at the disturbance to his sleep. "It's, like, seven in the morning."

"Oh, my little Lovi, you know why I'm here," Antonio sang, flopping down on top of Lovino's bed and peeling the covers back.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't want to."  
>"What? Don't you love me any more?"<p>

"No, now screw off, bastard."

"Waaaaah, Lovi~! I'm so hurt!"

"Good."

And that was how most of August went. But then, one day, Lovino finally broke.

"Lovi, Lovi, Lovi, Loviiiiiiiino," Antonio was singing outside his window again. "Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el rey Davíd~"

"It's not my effing birthday, you idiot!" Lovino hissed, sticking his head out the window. "And it's three in the morning, sun up isn't for two and a half hours, so get up here. Right. Now."

"Okay, my lovely Lovi!" Antonio trilled, disappearing for a moment and then, with only slight huffing and puffing, appearing right up in Lovi's face, having taken the outside staircase Grandpa Rome had had installed to go straight up to Lovi's attic bedroom.

"Jesus, man, have some dignity," Lovino grumbled, reluctantly letting Antonio into the room.

"But Lovino, I just love you too much!" the Spaniard replied, grabbing Lovino's hands and twirling him about the room until Lovino managed to disengage and huff over to sit on the bed.

"Why are you here at this ungodly hour, idiot?" He asked grumpily, flopping backwards onto his cushy, soft bed and scooting upwards towards the headboard. Lovino felt the bed dip as Antonio sat on it, also moving up towards the headboard to rest back against it.

"I wanted to know, just one last time, if you'd help me with geometry this year."

"You i-" but Lovino was cut off by a soft finger on his lips and a body in his lap, straddling his prone figure.

"Just hear me out, por favor?" Antonio pleaded softly. "I really, really need to pass this class, but I'm just no good with shapes. And you're the most brilliant person I know when it comes to maths, so I really, really want you to help me." Lovino looked to the side, blushing furiously and frowning.

"Don't think flattery will get you anywhere, stupid," he snapped, trying valiantly not to feel even a little bit warm and fuzzy from the compliment. But it was in vain. And he couldn't help but realize just a little bit how much really was in vain when it came to the older boy. Antonio just had this power over him, he just knew exactly what to say to set Lovino off. To make him blush, and laugh, and sometimes even, dare he say it, smile.

Lovino looked up, surprised to find that Antonio had gotten off of him at some point, and was exiting his room by way of the outside stairwell.

"Lovino?" he said, looking back, uncharacteristically serious for such a carefree boy. "I thought you loved me a little bit more than that. Because I mean it, you know? Every time. I love you, Lovino Romano Vargas."

But, before Lovino could pull himself out of his shocked state of almost catatonic proportions, Antonio was gone, and nothing Lovino told himself could hold back the wave of regret that washed over the Italian boy.

~First Day of Class~

Lovino had tried, he really had. But none of his calls would reach Antonio, and none of his emails, nor his facebook messages, nor his letters for god damn Pete's sake. So, the first day of class, he just had to wing it and hope his poorly thought out plan worked. Grandpa Rome had suggested flower, but was vetoed for the fact that even that was too girly for Antonio. Feliciano had suggested pasta, but what else did Feli ever suggest other than siestas, pasta, and going on double dates with his boyfriend Ludwig? But Lovino had tried his best, and he had to hope that his plan worked.

The teacher called the class to order, and the anxiety in Lovino's stomach increased tenfold. He called roll, stating each name quite precisely in his strict British accent. Lovino stole a glance at Spain, who seemed to be cowering over in a corner, resolutely not looking over to the front, where Lovino sat. Damn, Lovino thought, I've fucked up good this time, haven't I?

And then, and then… it was time to pick partners for the first and second semester of the year long class, and they were going in reverse alphabetical order, just like Antonio had complained about since two years ago, and oh god, it was Lovino's turn…

"I'd like to partner with Antonio Carriedo, please?" he asked the teacher, Mr. Kirkland.

"Very good, lad. Hopefully with grades like yours you can pull that hopeless sap through this year and get him the hell out of my classroom."

And Lovino looked over to where Antonio was sitting, staring at him in amazement. Lovino steeled himself, with trembling hands and a sinking gut. And he lifted his fingers, pressing them to his mouth, before dropping them to his desk and mouthing _I Love You_ at Antonio. And Antonio smiled, blushing slightly, and Lovino knew. It was all going to be okay.


	4. Four: Family Relationship

Theme 4: Family Relationship

Francis, Arthur, Alfred, & Mathieu

Mathieu sighed. Again. For the fifteenth time in twenty two minutes.

They'd been trying to have a family game night. Key word: trying. At this point in the evening, the monopoly board was strewn with popcorn, the pieces were lost to the world forever, Arthur and Francis were barely masking the sexual tension between them, and Alfred had been sexting the Netherlands for about twenty minutes. Wow. This had gone down hill rather fast. Mathieu thought they'd been doing a pretty decent job, actually, of being a family. For a while.

He had arrived at six o'clock sharp, knocking crisply but quietly on the door to Alfred's house, only to find that Francis and Arthur had already been there for twenty minutes because god knows Arthur can't be late for anything. They tried to pretend that they hadn't come together, but neither Alfred nor Mathieu were particularly impressed by their excuses, so Arthur gave up on his half-hearted protests several minutes in. Alfred had, by the miracle of take-out, not made some godforsaken greasy food, much to Mathieu's delight. Although he would have taken some nice fatty poutine. Instead, Francis had slipped into the human realm earlier that day and picked up some Chinese food from one of Yao's many outposts. Dinner had gone well, with a minimum of bickering, and rather pleasant conversation. And, much to Mathieu's surprise, Alfred didn't even talk over him once. So really, it had been a success. Until Alfred and Francis had gone to get the board games out.

Francis wanted to play strip poker, but then again, what else did Francis ever want to play? Alfred wanted to play Apples to Apples, which worked well for a while. But then Arthur and Alfred got into a row about unfair judging, and then that didn't work anymore. So Mathieu suggested Monopoly, and as Francis pried the other two apart, he set up the board. It was a success.

"I passed go, I passed go, I PASSED GO!" Alfred shouted, flinging his hand out at Arthur, the banker for the round, and demanding two hundred dollars.

"I can tell you passed go, you bloody twit," Arthur grumbled good-naturedly, pulling off two hundred dollar bills and depositing them in Alfred's outstretched palm.

"Oui, you attached a huge LED light to your piece, Alfred," said Francis. "It is difficult to miss."

"Oh, shut up and go molest someone, why don't you?" Alfred sniped, handing the dice to Mathieu. Arthur yelped.

"Not me, you bloody idiot!"

So, as you see, it had been going rather well. But… Alfred began to lose to Mathieu, and lost interest fairly quickly, pulling out his iPhone to text his boyfriend, Daans. And then Francis had begun molesting Arthur in earnest, putting a blush on his face that Mathieu really could have done without. So, with Arthur's mortified squeaks, Alfred's giggling over his sappy texts, and Francis hon-hon-ing across the table, Mathieu got bored rather fast. But this was how it always was, and he supposed this was how it always would be. Until either Alfred got up the nerve to ask Daans to marry him, or Gilbert got up the nerve to ask Mathieu to marry him, or maybe Seychelles bothered to stop in for a minute. And though Mathieu liked Seychelles, and he liked HK, he didn't think that they really fit with his view of family. Because to him, family was game nights, with the barely concealed fact that Arthur and Francis were about three seconds away from shagging on the Clue board, and the short attention span of Alfred with his sexting of his boyfriend. This, this  
>was family at its finest, and Mathieu wouldn't have it any other way.<p>

I know, it's short. . But I tried to think of my favorite Hetalia family, and this is definitely it. And I just happen to love the idea of Alfred and the Netherlands hooking up, I had to give him a name because I couldn't find one online. XD

I might write another one about what Francis and Arthur get up to after they leave this game night. :3 Or about Daans and Alfred, haven't decided. Maybe both. Or maybe even Gilbert and Mathieu, possibly my all time fave pair. -MM


	5. Five: Simply Wonderful

Theme Five: Simply Wonderful

Gilbert & Lille (Liechtenstein)

_Every morning when I wake up, there's a halo on the corner of my girlfriend's four-post bed…_

Gilbert sometimes stayed up for hours, watching Lille sleep. Lovino had told him it was creepy when he overheard Gil telling Francis and Antonio, but Antonio maintained it was perfectly normal.

"After all," he'd said when Lovino finally moved to the other room to start dinner, "I love to watch my little Lovi sleep, it's just too adorable for words."

"Those _are_ vords," Gilbert pointed out, only to be hit over the head by Francis.

"The point is, _mon petit albinos_, it's not all that strange to watch your lover sleep. So you're perfectly normal, in that regard."

Gilbert was not reassured.

However, it wasn't like he could just go up to Lille and say, hey, do you mind if I stare at you while you sleep? Even _he_ felt a bit creepy saying something like that, especially to his girlfriend's cute little face and wide, beautiful eyes. So he just continued the habit in silence.

He loved the way she murmured in her sleep, occasionally snuggling closer to his side and curling her arms about his abdomen. And yes, he likes cuddling. Cuddling and snuggling are fucking manly, okay? Especially with hot girls like Lille. At this point, Gilbert was convinced that sleep shorts were the instruments of the devil, all sweet and unassuming until it's three in the morning and your girlfriend's thighs are _right there_, creamy and smooth and _begging _to be touched. But he couldn't. Sometimes Gilbert wondered how much more Lille would love him if she knew how many times he'd held back from interrupting her precious sleep with a little well-deserved midnight molesting. Probably a lot more. Most of the other nations didn't know this, but Lille was a downright hellcat when she didn't get her six to eight hours of good, solid sleep. Not even Vash would believe the bruises came from his adorable, candy-sweet little sister. But it was true, and Lille packed a hell of a punch when she was woken up too early. Gilbert supposed that that was one of the reasons he loved her, in the end.

He loved the fact that she always ate the food he made, even though everyone else complained his cooking was too spicy. Hell, he even put up with Vash for her, and he had several scars to prove it. Gilbert knew he loved Lille. But Gilbert spent a lot of his time wondering if Lille loved _him_.

So he decided he was going to ask her.

The day was lovely, pure spring air and a small, untouched meadow perfect for picnicking in. Lille had made sandwiches and cookies, Gilbert had brought lemonade and beer, and with an old blanket spread out on the ground their picnic was set. Gilbert sat leisurely, watching Lille skip about after butterflies. Fritz had perched on his head, and was cheeping at the shy sparrow on the edge of the clearing. Pale white hands ruffled through the green, new grass, plucking daisies. Unconsciously he braided them together, tying knots in the way he used to when he made daisy chains for Ludwig as a child. With idle fingers, the slim green stems twisted back and forth.

"Lille?" he called, opening up the picnic basket and setting out the food.

"Yes?" And there it was, the perfect moment to ask. He tried to force the words out, his face growing red with consternation.

"Do you…" he tried, mouth going dry. Why was he so afraid of this? It wasn't like it mattered if she didn't… if she didn't love him. No, he, the awesome Prussia, didn't care who loved him and who didn't. He was awesome, and that was all that mattered, right? Right? "Do you…"

"Was is it, Gil?" she said, coming closer, a concerned look on her face.

"Do you vant some food now, liebe?" he said quickly, looking away. She smiled, sitting down next to him and leaning into his shoulder. And they ate in peace, and Gilbert tried to forget his slip up.

The next time he almost asked if she loved him was in the middle of a shared shower one Sunday morning. His fingers were threaded through her sopping wet hair, massaging shampoo into it as she drew hearts in the steam on the shower door.

_I love bunnies_, she wrote. But do you love me? He wondered.

"Liebchen, do you, um," he started. "I, um."

"Was vas dat, Gil?"

"It's time to rinse your hair out."

And so it went. For weeks. And Gilbert just kept getting more and more insecure until it got to the point where he completely avoided the word love, no matter when it would come up in conversation. He didn't even say "I love you" to Fritz anymore.

But it all broke down in a miserable flare when he heard Lille on the phone with Vash.

"Alright, bruder. I love you too," she said quietly, hanging up. With that little phrase, so innocently spoken, Gilbert's mind just snapped. He slammed the phone down into its base, breathing heavily, mind swallowed by self-doubt.

"Vhat about the awesome me?" he cried, shaking his head. "Vhy don't you efer say dat to me, Lille? Vhat, you don't lof me? How come you don't lof me?" Gilbert fell against the wall. "It's like you don't efen get dat I vant you to tell me dat." Lille's hand fell on his shoulder, but he did not look up.

"Gilbert…" she whispered. "You are de stupidest man I haf efer met."

"Hey!" he protested, looking up. "I soooo am not! It's just that you nefer say dat you lof me. Vhat am I supposed to think?"

"Ja, you are so foolish. I love you, Gil, you idiot. I always haf loved you, und I always will. It's simply that you allvays say dat you are too awesome for silly thingks like feelings, und I didn't vant to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Oh." He said, feeling rather stupid.

"Oh indeed," she giggled, pulling him closer. "You silly, silly man. I love you."

"Oh," he said again, gazing idiotically at her. "I lof you too."

And that, Gilbert supposed, was that.


	6. Six: The Taste of Apple

Theme Six: The Taste of An Apple

Berwald, Tino, & Peter

It was a changing kind of day, the sky vast and blue above the family that sat peacefully on gently waving grass. Well, sort of peacefully. Half peacefully, because Peter and Hanatamago ran wild about the field, frolicking at the end far from where Tino lay curled up against Berwald's large form. The grass made white washed patterns, shining in the sun and fluttering in the breeze like the waves of a green sea. When the wind turned chilly for a moment, Berwald tucked Tino closer into his chest, nestling the white-hat topped head into the crook of his strong neck. The picnic basket lay beside them, toppled over by Peter's enthusiasm, and Hanatamago's sheer inability to stay still.

"Th' two of th'm are really m'nt f'r each oth'r, aren't they?" Berwald murmured into Tino's ash-blonde hair.

"I think they truly are," Tino replied, running circles with his fingers over Berwald's vast chest. "Neither one ever seems to stop." They lay in silence for a few more minutes, simply enjoying the fact that they had some serenity. Until Peter broke that serenity with a particularly rough swing of the bat, and a tennis ball came bouncing down on Berwald's nose.

"Ach!" he spluttered, holding his hand to the slightly bleeding, red appendage. Tino looked over to where Peter had been, spotting the short blonde boy making his way hurriedly over to where his papas were.

"Papa! Mommy-Mom-Mom-Mama-Mommy-Mama-Mom! Is Papa okay? I'm sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to, Papa!" Peter gushed, flopping down on Berwald's lap and fluttering his hands about. Tino gently picked the boy up, placing him beside Berwald on the blanket, and pried Berwald's hands off of his nose.

"Look, Peter, Papa's fine," he murmured soothingly. But Peter persisted, fussing over Berwald and flapping his arms around until Berwald gently took two little hands in his two big ones and pulled Peter up to his eye level.

"Pet'r," he said quietly, sternly. "'M fine. D'n't worry. Jus' a l'ttle bl'd." Peter looked ashamed, eyes downcast. He freed one tiny hand from Berwald's grasp, raising it to trace down Berwald's swelling nose, past his watering blue eyes.

"Hey Papa?" he asked. "Will your nose feel less hurt-y if Mama kisses it better?" Berwald blushed, looking away from his son.

"I d'n't think so, Pet'r. 'S not usually how it w'rks fer grownups."

"But Paaaaaaaapaaaaaaa, Mama_ always_ kisses me better and it works _every_ time!" Peter whined, bouncing up and down impatiently, willing his papa to understand. Tino leaned in, pulling Peter out of Berwald's grasp and settling him in his lap.

"Peter, let Papa alone," he said calmly, reaching into the picnic basket for the bag of apples and picking out the smallest one. "Here, how 'bout you have this apple and go play some more with Hanatamago?" Peter's laughter bubbled up, snatching the apple with a hasty thank you and springing right out of Tino's arms to meet Hanatamago half-way across the field. Tino watched him go, taking a bite out of his own apple, the middle-sized one. When Peter was far enough away, he turned to Berwald, getting up on his knees and scooting over. With gentle hands, he turned Berwald's face this way and that, inspecting the purpling nose.

The taste of apple in his mouth, he kissed the nose gently, intensifying Berwald's blush, and sat down up against his giant chest. Berwald's chin rested on his head, his arms coming about him.

"M. 'S feel'n b'tter now." Berwald said after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm glad," Tino murmured, melting into Berwald's warmth. "I'm very glad."


	7. Seven: Monster in the Closet

Theme Thirteen- Monster in the Closet

Mathieu, Lovino, Gilbert, Francis, & Antonio

Pairing: MathieuXLovino (I read a rather adorable fic about this pairing a few days ago and was struck by the urge to try it out. After all, it has mon petit Mathieu in it 3)

When they had pulled up to the house, it had not seemed so menacing. It was an old house by the seaside, worn and weathered from the salty air. The faded yellow siding gave a cheery, if slightly tired look, and the once-bright-blue trim reminded Mathieu of the sky above a hot summer day. The trees about it were untrimmed, long with lashings of branches that were sprinkled in early-spring flowers, obscuring some of the second floor windows. To put it lightly, Mathieu was very pleased with the way it had turned out. He had spent weeks looking for the perfect house for his month long August vacation, and this…this was it. He would even put up with sharing the house with the three, rather obnoxious, traveling companions he'd been saddled with. He didn't mind Lovino, because, after all, they were dating. It was really the matter of the three perverted older boys who'd raised the two of them. And mostly Francis, at that. Lovino and Mathieu were to have the large bedroom on the left side of the second floor, and the so-called "Bad Touch Trio" was sharing the master bedroom on the right. Mathieu was glad that the two rooms were separated by a double staircase that led to each individual landing, making it difficult for Francis and Antonio to use the sleepwalking excuse this time.

At night though, it became a completely different story. Lovino and Mathieu had settled in just fine, and were reading quietly, enjoying the sounds of the storm outside. But Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio were not so calm. Across the house, in the giant bed fit for five people (Francis had grinned rather maniacally when he'd seen it, and he and Antonio had been scheming about how to get their former charges to fill the other two spaces all afternoon), they huddled together in a ball of fright. The trees lashed against the windows, blowing harshly in the wind and making a terrifying noise. Gilbert was very aware of the fact that somewhere, some higher power was probably laughing at them. Somewhere, in the pitch black darkness of their room, something creaked. Menacingly.

"Was that you?" Antonio stuttered out from beside Gilbert, huddling closer.

"Nein."

"Non."

"Then what was it?"

Lightning crashed, illuminating a figure at the end of their bed.

"HOLY MOTHER OF-"

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><p>"Did you hear something?" Mathieu asked, looking sideways at his, for once, calm lover. "It sounded like Gilbert."<p>

"Nope." Lovino said nonchalantly, obviously lying. Mathieu was, actually, not bothered by this in the least. He shrugged, returning to his engrossing book and snuggling further into Lovino's warm side. The storm raged on outside.

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><p>On the other side of the house, closer than physics deemed possible, the three men were intertwined, trembling and whimpering, eyes screwed tightly shut.<p>

"Ve're going to die, ve're going to die, ve're going to die," Gilbert muttered, trying to disappear into the bedclothes. Francis shrieked and jumped as, once again, boards creaked, and the sound of a rusty door hinge opening sent a new wave of frightened tremors through the trio.

"One of us has to turn on the bedside light," Antonio whispered. "And it's _not_ going to be me." Francis groaned.

"Non, it's not going to be me."

"I'm in ze middle, dipshits! I can't get to ze lamp." Gilbert protested. "Francis, you pansy ass, turn ze damn lamp on." With muttered curses in French and several rough punches to Gilbert's head and back, Francis gingerly peeled back the covers, venturing his hand towards the bedside table. After several ominous, tense minutes, the light finally clicked on, and the other two emerged from underneath the blankets. There was no one there. However, the closet door, firmly shut when they had gone to bed, was now wide open. All three men stared into its black, unfathomable depths, horror evident in their eyes.

"That door was not open," Antonio said in terror, stating what the other two men where thinking aloud.

"Oh my gott," Gilbert murmured. "Zere's somezing else in here vith us."

"Oh my god," Francis said. "We're going to get murdered by a monster in a closet on ze beachside."

"Escape on the count of three?" Antonio suggested.

"One."

"Deux."

"Tres."

With a wild scream, the three leapt from the bed, racing towards the door (failing to notice that the "scary shape" at the end of the bed was actually a coat hanger). After fumbling with the lock, shoving the old piece of wood open, and scrambling down the steps, they stopped to take a deep breath.

"To Mattie and Lovi's room?" Gilbert asked the other two.

"Oui."

"Si."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH MATTIE THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL US ALL, LOVI SAVE US SAVE US," the three yelled, bursting through the (locked) door into the lovers' room. Lovi looked up from where he'd been kissing Mathieu's neck with a scowl on his face. Mathieu hid his face in a pillow, completely consumed by a brilliant red blush.

"What the hell are you fuckers doing?" Lovi growled, shifting uncomfortably as the trio tried to climb up on the king sized bed. "Can't you see I'm a little _busy_ with my boyfriend here?"

The trio did not heed his obviously unhappy countenance, separating the lovers by sheer necessity of space and curling about them.

"Mattie, oh mein gott, zere vas zis flash und zis boom und sere vas zis sing, und it came out of the closet, and it vas goingk to kill us all, and ve vere so scared, but not me, I'm to awesome to be scared," Gilbert babbled, clinging to Mathieu's torso like a baby orangutan. Mathieu gingerly patted Gilbert's silver head, grimacing.

"I'm sure," he acquiesced. "But do you really have to be in here with me and Lovino?"

"Yes."

"Ja."

"Of course." Lovino groaned, reaching for the bedside lamp and turning it off.

"Fine then, you pansy ass bastards. I guess you can sleep with us." They all settled in, Mathieu and Lovino resigned to the fact that they very likely would not get any alone time during the entirety of this vacation.

"Francis, mon dieu! P-please don't do that!" Mathieu shrieked quietly several minutes later.

"Damn it, Francis, get your hands off my boyfriend!"

"Ow, what ze 'ell, Lovi? Zat was not me!"

"Kesesesese…"

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><p>Ah, what can I say~ This took me far too long to write, and I don't think it's all that great. I know a lot of people will be mad about the pairings too. Oh well. :(<p>

I'll try to get over my writer's block to write the next one.


	8. Eight: Fever Pitch

Theme Eight: Fever Pitch

Francis x Antonio x Lovino x Mathieu

Warning: This one-shot is rated M

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><p>Francis' hips swayed back and forth, mesmerizing, dancing and rocking to the beat of the song that played loudly over the club speakers. Clothed in those jeans that made Mathieu angry, they moved smoothly, sockets slipping back and forth like silk joints on a porcelain doll. His incensed indigo eyes followed those enticing iliac crests, tan stomach exposed from his too-tight shirt sliding upwards as he shimmied and spun under the dimly glowing colored lights above the dance floor. Those long, elegant fingers wrapped around the wrists of another. Someone else's bronze hands slipping, twining around that neck, knotting in that golden hair as they moved like one, chest to back. Beside him, Lovino's grip on his glass grew tighter and tighter, until his hand slid somewhat from the condensation collecting on the outer layer of glass.<p>

"Che, bastards…" He muttered, downing another furious sip. Mathieu was somewhat inclined to agree with him. It wasn't hardly fair, the things they did to Mathieu and Lovino. He and Italy's southern brother had once discussed this at length, coming to the conclusion that Antonio and Francis knew exactly what effect they had on their younger lovers, but were both sort of dicks and didn't much care.

The beat changed, speeding up momentarily only to slow way down, and Lovino groaned low in his throat. "_Cazzo_…" Francis had spun Antonio around, sliding a hand down the length of the Spaniard's lithe thigh and hooking behind the knee to pull one leg up about his exposed waist, dipping the delirious, flushed nation back dramatically. Tonio's deep, Mediterranean green eyes blinked slowly, half-lidded, before closing as he threw his head back. Francis pulled the two of them upright again, entwining them further, a writhing knot, slaves to the driving bass beat of the music. Those pelvises ground together, the two men's obvious gasps unheard over the speaker system. Francis dipped his head, running his nose up Antonio's arched neck until his lips were resting on his ear; right next to the single golden hoop the Spanish man had adorned himself with. That sinful French tongue darted out, the obvious exhibitionism making Lovino's breath stutter in his throat when Antonio's face flushed _just like that_, his nose scrunching in arousal. Mathieu's head hit the table with a dramatic thud.

"_Mon dieu_, they are trying to murder us," he moaned, weakly raising his head to take a sip of the cocktail Francis had procured for him before leaving for the dance floor. Lovino nodded his head in agreement, trying to look away from the sight before them. He scanned the club, just barely making out the other nations in the shadows punctuated with rainbow flashes. There was a glimpse of Gilbert's silver hair over in the booth where Feliciano had been sitting with Ludwig, but it appeared the German was still there too, so Lovino didn't really worry. He might not have liked Ludwig much in the beginning, but the blonde man had proven an excellent bodyguard for his naïve brother. In another corner, Arthur's prominent eyebrows were visible above the shoulders of the man who sat on his lap, drunkenly and sloppily kissing his neck. It appeared that international relationships between Portugal and England were at an all time best tonight. Iceland was behind the bar, odd boy, and so inebriated he seemed to be cuddling up to the fridge the barkeep was pulling chilled drinks out of. Lovino vaguely thought he heard the boy tell the fridge that "Jyou wush my only luff, Fridgesh, I never leaving youuuuu…" before he tuned that whole drunken mess out and returned to his drinking partner.

Only to find that he was gone.

And that there was a disturbing lack of Francis and Antonio on the fringe of the dancing mass, where they had been putting on their show earlier.

Damn.

* * *

><p>Sadiq sat high above the crowd, slouching in a comfortable bean bag and watching the antics of the people below. He took a drag from the hookah Lars had passed on to him, exhaling and filling the loft with sultry, cloying smoke. He chuckled lowly, craning his neck slightly to take in the entirety of the scene. It looked as though the alcohol and various drugs had finally been consumed in quantities vast enough to effect even the nations themselves. Across from him, Alfred lay prone across his Dutch boyfriend, muttering something about tulips and heroes, and curling up into the country's warm lap. Lars stroked his hair gently, smirking in obvious amusement at his lover's low tolerance for cannabis. Strangely enough, that quiet blonde girl Lille was up here too, sitting in the corner in an armchair and watching the world have its fun through calm turquoise eyes. Sadiq leaned back, tilting his mask up a bit, to watch her. She didn't seem disturbed by the loudness of the music pounding from the speakers below, nor the smoke that made the uppermost level so hazy. In fact, she didn't seem to be affected at all. And this, this placid façade (and it had to be a façade, for who could be that unruffled in a place such as this), it intrigued him. With a lazy flick of the wrist, he replaced the hookah pipe on the table and uncovered his head, tipping his mask down once again to cover his hazel eyes.<p>

"Hey," he called, voice low and husky from smoke. "Lille." He smirked inwardly when she started, eyes widening for one long moment before she identified who had spoken to her.

"Ah, yes, Sadiq?" she replied politely, voice brittle and high within the resounding walls of the club. This time he smirked for real. She wasn't afraid of him in the least. He motioned, an indolent sweep of the wrist.

"Come sit beside me, _gözbebeği_," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard of the din, voice dark and dangerous. She stood, dainty and perfect, brushing her deep blue blouse down to flatten any wrinkles and pulling up her jeans before she tripped her way over, a dancer's gait. With legs like a gazelle, she folded herself down beside Sadiq, hands resting with poise on her denim covered thighs. Sadiq turned his head, smirk shadowed in the depths of his hood. He reached forward, lifting the mouth piece between two fingers, and offered it to Lille. The girl, now barely twenty four in terms of human appearance, took it between pale fingers, verdant eyes curious. With all the fragility of a porcelain doll, she took a dainty drag, coughing lightly before exhaling a dizzy, pearly cloud of deep blue smoke.

"It's rather strange," she said, hesitating. "But I think I like it." This time, Sadiq's smile was genuine.

"I am glad, Lille-_benim_." He murmured, taking the metal piece back from her proffered hand. He was going to have_ so _much fun corrupting this one. And no, despite Vash's deepest suspicions, not in _that_ way. But he could see, under that glass skin and those delicate features was a girl waiting for someone to give her an excuse to run wild and free, to try all the things an adolescent had license to try. Sadiq was going to be that reason. And, one day, when the right man came along, he'd step back and let him be the reason instead. But until then… It looked as though Sadiq had found a new protégé. He settled back into the comfortable seat, sighing with contentment. Oh, the places they'd go…

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><p>Lovino slammed his drink down on the table in frustration, growling. He didn't know what the hell those two idiots were thinking, making off with poor little Mathieu like that, but he knew that it wasn't going to end up good for either of them. So, with a longing gaze towards the bar and the several shots of strong liquor he knew could be waiting for him there, he set his beer down and slid off his stool, making his way into the tightly compacted crowd of the dance floor. The people were sweaty, and almost automatically Lovino was flushed and overheated, shoving people aside, trying to see in between the cracks. The music continued its steady, sultry beat, the hips and shoulders of the surrounding dancers bouncing Lovi back and forth as he strode through them. It took him several songs, but finally: there they were.<p>

Oh, good_ lord_.

_**There they were**_.

And there was nothing Lovi could pretend, no illusion he could use to stave off the arousal that threatened to cloud his mind, nothing that could mask the scene. In the darkened, shaded area, at the edge of the crowd, and almost in a small, curtained off alcove, stood the three men Lovino had been searching for. He gulped, his mouth going dry, hand reaching out, as he stepped closer and closer. Suddenly, his pulse raced, the ringing in his ears drowning out most of the pulsing bass from the speaker a mere thirty feet away. It was… it was simply, quite utterly, giving him _chills_. Francis stood with his back to the Italian, his hands hooked on pale Canadian hips, his mouth latched on the slim, smooth expanse of that tundra-cream-white neck that received mouth-given bruises so well, that looked so good glistening with his kisses under the flashing lights of the club. One of Mathieu's spidery ivory hands was hopelessly tangled in Francis' golden locks, practically tied in with the red satin ribbon barely holding them back. His neck, arched back, led Lovino's helpless hazel eyes to that face. Oh, that _face_. It was flushed and panting, and completely and utterly under the control of the two men that stood on either side of it. Lovino knew that Mathieu was, in no small way, able to be dominant in his relationship with Francis, but this, this gasping, writhing Mattie was just too much for Lovino, and his knees buckled at the eroticism of the sight. When those indigo eyes opened, dull and glazed with vulnerable lust, his knees almost buckled, pangs of tension running through his stomach and straight to his groin. But then, then, Antonio's tan hand, bronze fire against that soft, white jaw, tilted the rosy-cheeked Canadian's head to the side and caught his open lips in a kiss that made Lovi _so _jealous. Their three bodies moved in sync, dipping and grinding and slipping and sliding across one another in an erotic knot of feverish heat, so caught up in it all. That tongue that Lovi knew too well was trailing across a plump, kiss-swollen lower lip when green eyes finally caught his, and a wide, dark, _dangerous _smoldering look spread across his lover's face.

"Francis," he whispered huskily. "I think he's found us."

And then Lovino was right next to them, being pulled and tugged into the fray by seductive, soft, teasing hands.

And he was face to face with that look, that rosy, aroused, begging look that had stopped him in his tracks earlier, and the shiver-inducing chuckle of his lover was in his ear.

"Do you like what you see, my Lovi?" that devilish voice said, breath hot on his ear. "Do you like having little Mathieu all spread out before you, flushed and willing, nearly crying with frustration and arousal?" Antonio pushed him closer, until he and Mathieu were sandwiched between France and Spain, Francis' hands slipping around Mathieu's wrists and bringing them up about his neck so that Mathieu was laid out like a sacrifice in front of the Italian. With a nudge to his hips, Antonio wrapping his arms about Lovi's waist and licking a hot trail up his neck, the brunette was only inches away from the panting Canadian. "You want to take him, don't you, Lo~vi~no," he murmured enticingly. "You want to suck that bottom lip, all shiny and swollen and just waiting for you to add your own bite marks to it. You want to hold those hips to yours, make that sweet little voice cry out for you, and _only_ you…" he bit Lovino's ear, inciting a shiver and a moan as the words penetrated the fog in Lovi's head. "Lovi," he pressed the name against his cheek, nipping gently. "Go on, love of mine… _take him_."

Francis was watching, amusement and lust in his blue eyes as the Canadian struggled weakly against his hold, more from frustration of denied physical contact than a wish to escape. He couldn't help but grind his own painful erection against his lover's ass, the words Antonio said going straight to his groin as well. The scene in front of him was dizzying, the long-awaited sensuality of partaking in such a group activity arousing him beyond belief. With careful, elegant fingers, he swiped two fingers down Mathieu's face, slipping the digits between his lips and coaxing the delirious boy to suck on them, watching as Lovino's eyes widened, softened, the fire of lust melting his resistance as Francis began to move the digits in and out of Mathieu's soft, hot little lips, fucking his mouth, relishing in the muffled moans that vibrated against his hand. Mathieu writhed feebly, hips thrusting into the air, desperate for contact. His deep eyes opened halfway, long, translucent eyelashes fluttering as he looked into the Italian's face pleadingly. Begging him to do something. To _touch_ him.

With a groan, Lovino lurched forward, clumsy hands settling on pale hips, pelvis grinding hardness against hardness. With a triumphant smirk, Spain tilted his head back, meeting Francis' china blue gaze. And so it began.

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><p>I don't know if I'll continue this AU or not... Hehe, that's my first M-rated thingy, and it was kind of awkward to write. ^_^;;<p> 


	9. Nine: Hourglass

56. Hourglass

Mathieu & Francis (AU)

AN: I don't think I took this quite the right way XD

But I've just watched three episodes of Say Yes to the Dress with my mum, and to be honest, the first thing I thought when I saw "hourglass" was one of the boys in a corset. Yeah, yeah. Shoot me now, Manada. X_X I like this AU so much that I might make another one shot with it, or a short story perhaps.

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><p>Mathieu didn't know how Francis talked him into these sorts of things. He really, truly didn't. It didn't make very much sense how he, the hockey team captain, had ended up in this… this… <em>god <em>forsaken _hellfire_ damnation_ brutally_ embarrassing **outfit**. It was, quite simply, the worst thing Francis had ever done to his lover, and honestly Mathieu was not entirely mad at Francis. To be perfectly truthful, Mathieu was more angry at himself.

Because, to tell the horribly shameful (in his eyes) truth, he was rather, sort of… enjoying it.

It had started a few days ago, when Francis had told him that there was to be a huge party at the grand opening of his second club, one of those high class clubs where people could come to expound upon their vices, and then leave and go back to their normal lives like they weren't just dressed head to toe in leather and whipping a fully grown man. Francis' first club, in a large city half an hour inland from the current coastal mega-city Mathieu was in, had been a huge success, so much so that the Frenchman had the opportunity to open a new one four years later. Francis was rather famous for the types of arm candy he brought to parties like this one, always prettier than the next, but this was the first time he'd asked Mathieu to be his escort for the evening, despite them having gone steady for almost seven years now. The twenty six year old man, two years older than Mathieu himself, was, aside from his promiscuous behavior, an extraordinarily attentive, sweet lover. Mathieu had long ago rationalized that as long as Francis reserved the pleasure of orgasm for Mathieu to bring out from him alone, there was no problem with Francis flaunting himself at his clubs and making other people desperate for contact. It wasn't like Francis was all that good at turning off his predatory charm, anyways; Francis counted himself lucky that Mathieu was so accepting of his need to be seen, to be wanted and desired. And it was, apparently, time for Francis to turn the tables.

He'd never asked Mathieu to accompany him to any of the bimonthly themed nights at his original club, _La Nuit Noire_, always choosing to bring along one of his most trusted employees who understood that he was in a relationship and wasn't willing to deviate. But this, this was the dream he'd had all his life. _La Nuit Noire_ had been a test run, to be honest, and though he adored that club to death and wouldn't change it for the world, this new establishment was everything he'd ever wanted in a club, tested out in steps by his first place and now put into practice in the perfect combination. He had named it _Folie __à Deux _mainly because it also featured a huge section devoted entirely to helping along the thriving swingers community the city had. The opening theme was to be a masquerade in an entirely debauched nineteenth century sort of perversion, dress and all. Francis himself would be wearing a painstakingly constructed pirate costume ("Privateer," he had insisted to Arthur earlier when the official tailor of all his club's outfits and costumes had snorted at him. "Poor excuse for a proper pirate," Arthur maintained as he stated that Francis was far too French and girly to make a good pirate.). His royal blue coat, with bright gold trappings and shimmering silver-black embroidery making intricate patterns all over the fabric, fell nicely over his crisp white shirt and well pressed sky blue vest. To top it all off, he'd gotten Feliks to pick out a pair of skin tight leather pants (so tight that they were lace up in the front) and a lovely set of swashbuckling boots that make Francis feel like dominating someone. Preferably his darling Mathieu. So that was what he had spent the last four days doing: convincing Mathieu to be his dearest damsel, a stolen princess for the pirate to have hanging off his arm. It had been hard, and it had taken a lot of thinking, but eventually Francis had broken through by promising Mathieu a whole case of his favorite maple syrup and a vow not to molest him in his sleep for a whole month.

And now Mathieu was watching himself in the mirror as he slipped on the completely-lace pantyhose Francis had acquired, attaching them to the garters that clipped about his waist. Francis had even gotten him some lacy black satin women's panties, ones that felt sort of sinful and far too good about his hips. He turned, twisting his torso back so that he could see his butt, and frowned. If these made his already-substantial-from-hockey ass look big, the pirate wench dress that Francis had lying out on the bed would make it look humongous. With a leather, ribbon-laced corset piece to go over the sheer layers of fabric that made up the bodice and skirt, Mathieu's waist would be make even skinnier, and his butt even bigger. And while he was sure that that was what Francis had in mind, he wasn't so sure he was comfortable with it. His cheeks felt red already, just from the thought of all the people that would be seeing him like this. Taking a deep breath, he walked out to the bed, picking up the deep cornflower blue sheath of fabric and pulling it reluctantly over his head. The hem wasn't nearly long enough for him to feel comfortable, resting halfway up his thigh, only four inches below the garters that held his lace stockings up. Sliding his arms into the creamy ivory peasant shirt that came over the top, its neck wide enough to slip off both of his pale shoulders, he sighed. There was no way to get the gold and turquoise embroidered corset over his wide hips and cinched correctly unless he called Francis in to lace it up.

"Francis?" he called out, voice soft, hoping that his lover wouldn't be the one to hear him, that one of their current house guests would respond instead. That Arthur or even Alfred would hear his plea. But no such luck. Francis had been waiting outside the door since he'd sent Mathieu in twenty minutes ago, anxiously imagining the sight of his lover in costume.

"Yes, Mathieu?" he said through the door, waiting for the boy's reply. "Was there something you needed?"

"_Oui_, I suppose," Mathieu muttered, coming to unlock the bedroom door and pull it open shyly. "I cannot lace up the corset properly on my own." Francis grinned, his eyes sweeping up Mathieu's figure and appreciating Arthur's hard work. Sweeping past his lover and striding over to the bed to pick up the accoutrement, he beckoned Mathieu closer with silk-gloved hand.

"Come, _amant_, let me string you up," he purred, delighting in the red stain that appeared on the shy boy's cheeks as he approached Francis. Mathieu turned his back to Francis, letting the man slip the leather sheath about his torso. His breath was hot against Mathieu's neck, lips brushing his silver adorned ear in a manner that sent shivers up and down his spine. Large, gloved hands settled about the boy's waist, grounding him to the floor and rubbing appreciatively at the natural curves found there. Slender fingers shoved uselessly at the caressing palms as Mathieu huffed with embarrassment. He's never found his bottom heavy characteristics to be attractive, but Francis had been pleased with them from day one. With delicate movements, Francis braced his hands and tugged the edges of the corset together, slipping the pale gold ribbons across each other and securing the first knot at the base of Mathieu's spine. His hips were too wide, forcing the edges of the corset apart by a few inches, but in Francis' opinion, that gap made it all the more enticing. As he laced it up further and further, fingers brushing against Mathieu's sensitive back while he tugged those sinful ribbons, Mathieu's breath became more and more labored. The feeling of leather constricting his abdomen, dialing in his waist and changing the way he breathed, made him sort of light-headed and antsy.

He was glad for the tight underwear, because he was half hard from the way Francis was deliberately breathing against that spot on his neck, from the blinding, shameful eroticism of the sight of him in the full-length mirror across the room. Unfortunately, the silence in the room meant that Francis could hear the way he gasped and bit his lip to stifle a moan when those gloved fingers tug the ribbons particularly tight around his ribs, where the corset stopped centimeters below his now-pebbled nipples. "You_ like_ this, don't you?" Francis said, his voice darkly amused and insufferably pleased. Mathieu shakes his head, no, but Francis' hand has already slid up under his skirt, has already brushed hotly across the front of his straining underwear, where there's not quite enough space for him to go fully hard. That laugh, shadows and alleyways, and everything Mathieu's come to expect of his hyper sexualized boyfriend, has Mathieu's head falling back to rest against the brocade of Francis' overcoat. Far-too-talented fingers slip the lacy band down over his cock, wrapping around it like sin and staying still, teasing. "You're such a closet case, Mathieu."

"Shut up, Francis," Mathieu manages, trying to break free of his grasp, and when he falls forward onto the bed, leaving his lover standing there behind him, he gasps for breath that wasn't possible with Francis' hands on him.

"We've a party to get to, amour," Francis states with a laugh, an unspoken promise that Mathieu'll be paying for his disobedience later, at the party, where there's an unspeakable amount of humiliating things that Francis is capable of. Mathieu is pulled up, walking slightly unsteadily as he pulls up his panties and slips on his high heeled ankle boots. Francis had done Mathieu's make up before he put on his ensemble, so all that's left is slipping some cash into the tight space between his chest and his corset. By the time they've made it downstairs to meet their guests, Mathieu has gotten the hang of walking in these monstrosities, and the most embarrassing thing is the way that both Alfred (a cowboy) and Arthur (a saloon girl) pinch his ass and kiss his cheek, telling him he looks stunning. The limousine they are taking to the club is ostentatious, but that's what his patrons expect of him, so Francis obliges their ideals. The red carpet, the lights, and the line to get into the thing are absolutely frightening for Mathieu, the sheer number of things to grasp all at once. Francis grabs his hand and links their arms, the pirate king arriving with his pseudo queen to this debauched mass gathering. Once Mathieu has entered the club, though, he has to grudgingly admit that Francis is very good at what he does. Everyone here seems far more at ease than he is, and Francis appears to know everyone he runs into. Soon, Mathieu is sitting a VIP table sipping some sort of fruity drink Francis had procured for him, watching as Francis glowed in his home element. Alfred has already found the toy rooms, and Arthur's currently sitting next to Mathieu with a blush on his face that Mathieu's fairly certain isn't just from alcohol. About a half an hour later, muttering something about "the damned remote controls" and "What in the hell does that blasted Yank think he's doing", Arthur gets up and walks rather hurriedly over to the table where Alfred is entertaining a group of leather clad women, tugging his lover away towards the more private sections. The hours pass in a blur of lights and being shown off like a possession, but eventually it's over and people have left two by two. Alfred and Arthur had retreated back to Francis and Mathieu's house almost an hour ago by the time that Francis is locking the doors, and the silence in the club lets Mathieu know that they are utterly and completely alone.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Francis purrs as he stalks towards Mathieu, dark eyes and dark promises. Mathieu turns away, setting his empty glass on the bar, not answering. "Mathieu?" He abhors the way that the skirt swirls around his thighs as he spins around to face Francis. No, that's not right. He abhors the way that the skirt swirling around his lace-covered upper legs makes him feel kind of sexy, the way that there is danger of his garters peeking out from beneath deep blue fabric.

"Well, you made me wear a dress, Francis," he deadpans, but Francis has already caught his game and there's no hope of Mathieu acting truly disgruntled now. Francis knows that Mathieu secretly relishes in the way people look at him, the way that it's totally obvious they want him, but they can't touch. Francis' hands come around his waist, pull him closer, rubbing silken fingers over the seams of the corset.

"I didn't make you play any of the games, or put on a show, did I?" He smirked, his voice taking a wicked turn. "Besides, you liked it, didn't you." It wasn't a question. It was the truth.

And Mathieu would not, could not deny it.

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><p>There was no point to this oneshot. NO POINT.<p>

Oh well. I love me some cross dressing though. I might try to expand on this oneshot a little in the future. I for sure want to do a fic on the interactions between Alfred and Arthur in this one. That fic will be m-rated for suuuuuuure. =v=


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